


Broken Promise

by someheroine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #harryjamespotterwouldNEVER, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bullying, Depression, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Pre-Slash, but albus remus potter is my son, had to go back in time and try to help my poor baby, i hated the cursed child so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someheroine/pseuds/someheroine
Summary: Albus goes to Hogwarts, gets Sorted into Slytherin, and everything is awful. He comes home for Christmas after his first term with a lot of baggage. AU where Harry is a good dad to all of his children.





	1. Chapter One

Albus jerked awake in alarm as the train whistle blew and they slowed to a loud, thunking stop. He looked around wildly and his eyes fell on Scorpius, who closed his book and smiled calmly at him. “We’re here!” he said cheerily. “First term down! You know my dad always says-” 

Albus rubbed his eyes muzzily and took a few deep breaths as Scorpius chattered on. His hands were trembling and his heart was slamming against his chest so hard it almost hurt. He let his best friend’s voice wash over him and ground him in the present, his nightmare sliding off of him. It had been one of his recurring ones that he had started having these past few months: he was running down a corridor in the dungeon, he was being chased by something - or somethings - big and hulking but so, so fast, so much faster than he, and he was trying so hard to run but the air was thick like syrup and the hallway just went on and on and -

_ Breathe _ he commanded himself sternly.  _ Breathe, you idiot. It was just a stupid dream. You’re not there anymore. You’re not there. _

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He wasn’t safe yet - this train was full of Hogwarts students who could come bursting into their compartment at any moment. He couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down like that - but he was just so damn  _ tired. _ Sleep came to him so rarely these days. He used to be able to drop off in an instant, but now he lays awake for hours staring at his green canopy, almost paralyzed by anxiety about the coming day. He would twist his fists into his bedsheets and try to focus on his breathing, just praying that he would drop off before a full blown panic attack hit him. And when sleep did come, it wasn’t exactly restful...

“Albus?”

He jumped a little and looked around at Scorpius’s concerned face (he had been seeing that face a lot lately), and then down at his knee, where his friend had gently rested his hand to try and get Albus’s attention. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry,” he said, managing a smile that he hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. The pounding pulse in his ears was receding, as was the pull to leave the present, the physical, and instead retreat with his consciousness into the swirling darkness that was always there in the back of thoughts. He willed himself to stay present. He focused hard on his friend, the one person who could always ground him; the one thing, as far as he was concerned, that was worth staying grounded for. “I was miles away,” he said lightly, and didn’t realize until after he said it how very true the idiom was. 

Scorpius kept looking at him, looking at him with that  _ face _ that made Albus feel like every bad dream and every invasive thought was written across his forehead for all to see. He hated that Scorpius alone could see through all of his lies so easily - or he would hate it, if he wasn’t so pathetically grateful for it.

Still. He didn’t want Scorpius spending his holiday worrying about him. He did quite enough of that already.

Albus sprang to his feet, dislodging Scorpius’s hand, clapped his palms together and grinned. He was determined to make a real effort. (And as he was going to have to put on the show for his family all during break anyways, he might as well get into character now.) 

“We made it, Scorp!” he said, doing his best imitation of Scorpius’s naturally cheerful tone. “We’ve done all our exams, passed all of our classes - well, probably -”

“You didn’t fail anything,” said Scorpius, starting to smile at Albus’s new mood.

“-we figured out where all the bathrooms are, so no more peeing in buckets -”

“Almost!” said Scorpius, laughing now. “We only  _ almost  _ peed in those buckets!”

“And we would have gotten away with it, too,” said Albus mournfully, “if it wasn’t for Mrs. Norris. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat look so shocked.”

Scorpius let out a great snort of laughter, and they both busted up at the sound. Albus felt a warmth of affection spread through his chest as he laughed, genuinely, with his friend. His only friend. The only person who could (the only person who was actually  _ inclined _ to) make him really smile, remind him what  _ happy _ felt like when his insides felt so hollowed out and cold.

He already missed him.

They straightened up as the train came to a final halt and the whistle blew again. They smiled at each other, bittersweet. 

“I can’t wait to see my parents again,” Scorpius sighed happily as he pulled down his travel suitcase from the rack. “I’ve got loads to tell them about our classes - there’s only so much you can fit in a letter, you know? And I never even mentioned that secret hallway we found behind that tapestry on the third floor and you know, my mum, she loves that kind of thing - “

Albus smiled blandly as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and opened the door of their compartment cautiously. Students were streaming out of their compartments, and they all looked too excited to get off the train and start their holidays to pay any attention to the two of them. He hoped.

They joined throng, Scorpius still excitedly narrating all the things he wanted to tell his family, and everything he wanted to hear from them about home, and what he hoped to do together over break, and on. Albus contributed nothing and hummed noises of assent whenever Scorpius paused in his happy ramblings. The truth was his stomach was starting to twist into nervous knots at Scorpius’s words. For weeks he had been dreaming of home, the promise of a break from the ceaseless torment at school the only thing getting him through his final exams. But he hadn’t actually thought much about seeing family again. Quite the opposite. He had been actively trying  _ not _ to think about his parents. 

They must know. 

His parents were good friends with Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Longbottom, and Hagrid. They’d only been coming to his house for tea and the odd dinner his whole life. Albus liked them all a lot, really. They were always kind and happy to see him, at school as well as at home. But teachers see things, and they hear things, and these teachers have kept up a correspondence with his parents, and they must have told. 

Not that he thought his teachers  _ knew, _ not really. But they would know some of it. They would suspect more. Neville especially had a habit of holding him back after Herbology class for a few minutes, ostensibly just to ask Albus to pass on a greeting to his parents - but then he would pause and he would look at Albus, so gently it made him want to squirm and run away, and ask him if he was getting on at school all right, and if there was anything he could ever do for Albus all he had to do was ask, because he remembered himself how difficult school could be. And Albus would mumble something and scarper, feeling Neville’s sympathetic gaze following him out of the greenhouse. Neville could be so kind sometimes that it made Albus feel like his heart was breaking. 

Neville would have written to his parents, he was sure. He would have meant it as a kindness, Albus knew, but it still made his stomach twist and burn with angry mortification. 

Mum and Dad’s letters - when they deviated from their aggressively upbeat attitude - included little hints and not-so-subtle questions. “We hope your classes are going well! Sometimes it takes a little while to get the hang of it!” “Have you made any new friends? Don’t be afraid to put yourself out there!” 

They alternated between poorly concealed concern and infuriating little pep talks. His cheeks burned with shame as he read them and hot tears would tickle at the back of his eyes - which was why he had stopped opening his letters in the Great Hall. All he needed was to burst into tears in front of the whole school, that would help. But in the relative privacy of his dorm, curtains drawn around his four poster bed, he would read his parents gently disappointed words, swallowing hard over the hard lump his throat, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. He was a failure. He was a failure and a loser and they knew it. 

He had avoided thinking about meeting his parents at the station, because the thought of seeing that disappointment on their faces was just too much. On top of everything else, it was just too much.

He could see them now. Peering around all the other famiiles milling about, delighted parents and children hugging, he could see his mum and dad talking to Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. They weren’t being jostled around by the crowd as much as everyone else. As always, their collective legacies - just the fact of them, the Chosen One and his gang - seemed to prevent the awed masses from getting too close (except for the odd determined autograph-seeker). That invisible shield of fame didn’t prevent anyone from gawking, however, which they did, openly. His parents and Aunt and Uncle seemed perfectly oblivious, but Albus cringed in anticipation of all the cold stares and hissing words, which he still hadn’t gotten used to since September and which would surely be magnified tenfold once he entered his father’s orbit.

Someone slammed into his side as they walked by, knocking him out of his thoughts and almost off his feet. Scorpius beside him yelped in surprise and grabbed at his arm to keep him from toppling over. Albus straightened up hastily and glared at Yann Fredericks - probably the biggest prick in their year, Albus felt, though there was definitely a lot of competition - who was now snickering at him over his shoulder. “Tell your daddy hi from me, Potty,” he taunted. He and his faithful hyenas laughed uproariously as they swaggered away. More than a few onlookers (Yann always had to have an audience, after all) sniggered as well.

Albus scowled after them. This is why you don’t let your guard down, ever. His fingers clenched hard around the wand in his pocket. He wasn’t very good at hexes (or jinxes, or charms, or, well, anything wand-related), but keeping his wand close and ready to draw at all times made him feel less exposed and vulnerable. Less pathetic.

“Don’t worry about them, Albus,” Scorpius said softly, tugging Albus’s sleeve until he turned, reluctantly. He was surprised to see a look of anger on his friend’s face - so much of this crap seemed to roll right off of him - but it quickly melted away as Scorpius met Albus’s eyes and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about them,” he repeated calmly. “We don’t have to even look at those jerks until after New Year’s. Don’t let them spoil your holiday before it’s even started.”

Albus smiled weakly. “You’re right. Who cares about them?” he said with a stiff movement that was more of an angry jerk than the defiant shrug he’d intended, trying to look unconcerned and fooling his friend not at all.

Scorpius didn’t push it though, only smiled at Albus a little sadly. He looked about to say something else when he heard a voice calling, “Scorpius!” They both looked round and saw Draco and Astoria Malfoy across the platform, both waving and beaming at their son. Scorpius lit up like Albus had never seen before, and he was struck - and ridiculously pleased - by the look of total joy that spread over Scorpius’s face. He knew of no one else their age who still looked so purely, childishly elated at the sight of their own parents. He was tempted to tease Scorp about it, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it occurred. They had both had so few moments of happiness untainted by any underlying fear or stress. He would not take this moment away from his friend.

Scorpius was bouncing on his toes, waving back to his parents. He called, “I’m coming!” over the crowd, ignoring the renewed snickers around him at this display. Albus felt a flash of anger and would have started staring punks down, but then he realized in a rush of surprise and dejection that the moment of parting had come. No matter how bad things had gotten at Hogwarts, he had at least always had Scorpius by his side and somehow, that had always been enough. He didn’t know what he would be facing at home, but the thought of doing it without Scorpius was more daunting and painful than he had anticipated.

“See you next term, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

Scorpius’s face fell as he turned back to Albus. They stared at each other for a moment, equally forlorn, and then - he could not have said who moved first, or if they both moved in at the same time - they were hugging. 

They had never done this before. They both seemed rather startled, and after a tight, warm moment - a huff of breath stirring the hair at his neck and fingers clutching his shoulders and a short, strange leap in his stomach - they broke apart. Albus felt shy for a moment, as he never had with Scorpois, but then Scorpius grinned at him sheepishly and he grinned back, and everything was normal between them again (apart from the oddly light feeling in his stomach, which lingered). 

“See you next term,” Scorpius said warmly. Albus smiled and nodded at him. Scorpius picked up his suitcase and started walking away, but he stopped abruptly and turned on his heel, facing Albus again as if he had just remembered something - or decided something. He was looking at Albus seriously, almost fiercely.

“What’s up?” he asked, blinking in surprise. Did he want another hug?

“Talk to your parents,” said Scorpius firmly.

A lump of lead slid into his stomach, mercilessly crushing that new happy feeling.

He was surprised. And angry. He glared at Scorpius. “Why-”

“Talk to them, Albus,” Scorpius urged, looking at him so earnestly that Albus felt completely unmoored. Why was he doing this? They had already talked about this, once, and they had both understood that once was quite enough. “Not about everything,” Scorpius went on, “not if you don’t want to, but tell them how you’re feeling. Tell them how hard it is - how awful some of the students can be-”

“I can’t!” He managed to splutter, louder than he’d intended, and a few people looked around at them. “I  _ can’t _ ,” he hissed, lowering his voice furiously. Where the  _ hell _ was this coming from. “You know I can’t! They-”

“I don’t know about them,” Scorpius interrupted, “but I know about you. I know you haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks - maybe longer. I know you never have an appetite anymore. I’m not sure you’d eat at all if I didn’t drag you to the Great Hall.”

“That’s-” Albus tried to interject.

“I know,” Scorpius continued relentlessly, but keeping his lowered discreetly, “that you have panic attacks.” Albus was silent. “I know you almost had one on the train, just now. I know you’re so exhausted and on edge all the time that you can barely see straight, let alone pay attention in class or study.

“I know,” Scorpius said softly “that you’re angry. Not just at  _ them _ but at...him”

There were a few moments of heavy silence as Albus stared down at his laces, jaw clenched tight. What was the point of this?

“Albus,” Scorpius said, so gently, and so without malice that Albus looked up in spite of himself. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through these last few months without you.” Albus started and blushed and looked away in embarrassment. He felt the same way about Scorpius, of course, but he wasn’t about to just  _ say it. _ “But,” Scorpius went on, “there were a lot of times this year when I just - I just needed to write to my parents and tell them how down I was, and have them write back and tell me that everything was going to be alright. I’ve never given them many specifics, of course, but I just - there’s nothing wrong with letting your parents know you need them,” he finished earnestly.

Albus squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and imagined, just for a second, running into his father’s arms the way he had when he was a little boy. Burying his face in his dad’s chest, letting his strong arms wrap too tightly around him, and finally,  _ finally _ let go - 

He opened his eyes. “I can’t,” he said, and the words were like razors in his throat. “They’re not - we’re not - Scorpius, I just _ - _ ” he broke off as the hot prickling started in the backs of his eyes again. He bit his lip and turned away, furious. Furious with himself, with Scorpius, with his family, with that awful goddamn school and every single person in it. 

Scorpius squeezed his arm, his eyes full of sympathy, probably, but Albus refused to look.  _ That’s all I need, _ he thought bitterly,  _ to cry in the middle of the train platform. _ Scorpius started to say something else, but there was another call of  _ “Scorpius,” _ a little closer now, and he sighed in frustration and dropped his hand. 

“I have to go,” he said, sounding a little distressed. “I’m sorry, Albus, I only want…” he trailed off unhappily, and Albus, still angry, didn’t try to help him out. 

“Write to me?” Scorpius asked finally, and he sounded so nervous all of a sudden that Albus met his eye in spite of himself, and the second he did he felt his anger drain away. He could never stay angry with Scorpius. He just felt tired now ( _ again, as always _ ). Tired and sad.

“Of course I will,” he said quietly, and was gratified by Scorpius’s relieved, megawatt smile.

“Alright then,” Scorp said. He rocked back on his heels for a moment, smiling, nodded once, and then started away again. “And think about it,” he said, pausing with a look over his shoulder. Albus gave an annoyed, noncommittal jerk of the head that Scorpius seemed to take as assent because he looked slightly appeased before he hurried over to his waiting parents.

Albus watched the Malfoys envelop their son in a hug, all three beaming and clearly delighted with each other. He felt an ache in his chest as he watched them, happy in their familial bubble.

Feeling he could not put off his own family reunion any longer, he turned reluctantly from the happy scene and started making his way towards his own family. 

James and Rose had joined the scene, and he could now see Lily and Hugo standing together a little ways off, pointing at the scarlet steam engine and talking together excitedly, no doubt fantasizing about the day that they would board the train themselves. Only a year ago he had been doing the same. The ache in his chest gave a painful little throb.

Rose glanced at him as he approached before turning away disdainfully -  _ Yann’s competition _ he thought, annoyed - and James paused in regaling his parents with the minutest details of his third year to aim a kick at his little brother, which Albus dodged out of long habit.

“James,” Harry warned his eldest son automatically, before turning to Albus. 

Albus had tried so hard not to imagine this moment. 

But in his darkest periods - when he was locked into his own miserable thoughts, unable escape his mental prison - those times when he was most desperate to leave Hogwarts and never look back - he found that he couldn’t help himself. He would picture his father’s face falling in disappointment at the sight of him, crossing his arms and looking down at him from a great height (he always seemed so much bigger in his head). He would shake his head sadly and look at his mum who would shrug and raise her hands helplessly -  _ Don’t look at me. _ And then they would both turn to him wondering silently, but very plainly, where had they gone wrong. How had they produced such a disappointing, useless, Slytherin son.

This was what he had been expecting. He was dreading it, but he was prepared for it.

The reality was much worse.

Harry looked at Albus, and his whole face  _ lit up. _ It was the exact same expression, Albus realized with astonishment, that had transformed Scorpius’s face just a few minutes before at the sight of his parents. Harry was looking at Albus like he had never been happier to see anyone in his whole life, and it hit him like a sack of bricks to his gut.

Harry strode forward and pulled his youngest son into a tight hug, and Albus was so caught off guard that he let him. His father’s arms around him felt like protection, like the sense of safety and belonging that he hadn’t had for so long he had forgotten he had ever felt it. 

It occurred suddenly to Albus that he had been hugged twice today, and that that was more physical affection than he had received from anyone for four months. 

He pulled back from his father abruptly, taking a sharp, steadying breath and blinking rapidly at his shoes.  _ I will not fucking cry next to the bloody Hogwarts Express _ he thought violently.

“Al?” Harry said, sounding surprised and a little hurt. 

His stomach was churning again, his head was pounding.  _ “I know that you’re angry” _ Scorpius had said.

Albus took a deep breath.

_ Let’s get on with it, _ he thought grimly.

He looked up at his dad and smiled with as much sincerity as he could muster. “Hi, Dad,” he said, forcing some cheer into his voice, and turned his attention elsewhere as quickly as possible. “Hey Mum - Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron.”

His mum swooped down on him and covered his face in kisses. He tried not to grimace or think about the many, many onlookers. Aunt Hermione finally rescued him and pulled him into a much more dignified hug, and Uncle Ron ruffled his hair and asked how his favorite Slytherin was doing.

_ Right, _ Albus thought glumly.  _ That’s starting.  _

_ That _ being the Slytherin jokes. He was the only member of his huge family to be Sorted there, and he knew they would never let him forget it. James definitely wouldn’t. Albus would have to put up with the endless jokes and quips and the “Not  _ you, _ of course, Albus, but you know what I mean.” And he would have to smile and go along with it so he wouldn’t be called a spoilsport, or  _ oversentive. _ “Our Albus,” he could hear his mum saying fondly but apologetically, “he’s our sensitive boy.” They used to call him “their sweet boy” when he was small, but over the years as his introverted nature became more pronounced, and the “teasing” became more pointed, he became the sensitive one. Funny, that. 

Greeting his mum and his Aunt and Uncle, and shoving James off of him when he fell over him dramatically, and aiming a punch at James after his brother tried to pinch his cheeks, and getting told off by his mother, and hugging a squealing Lily after she ran over and launched herself at him - all served to smooth over the awkward moment with his dad, which he was grateful for. With all the bustle, there was no opportunity for his dad to pull him aside again.

He felt his dad looking at him frequently as the family made their way out of King’s Cross and towards the car. Albus felt like Harry was trying to catch his eye but he pretended to be too absorbed in talking to Lily to notice.

Albus tossed his duffel into the roomy trunk - magically altered, he suspected - and turned to clamber into the car after his siblings when he was stopped by a light hand on his shoulder. He repressed a flinch and turned around, hoping none of his dread or reluctance showed on his face.

Harry was looking at him in a way Albus couldn’t quite interpret. It was a little concerned, and very searching. Albus squirmed uncomfortably and finally piped out, “What’s up?” He sounded nervous to his own ears.

Harry blinked and wiped away the odd expression. He smiled at Albus with total sincerity. He reached out to stroke back Albus’s hair, and Albus told himself to stay still and let him.

Harry’s expression was more guarded now than in the station, but it was still so undeniably full of fondness. Albus kept bracing for disappointment or admonishment or  _ something _ that still hadn’t come, and he didn’t know what to do with this affection. He didn’t know if it made him more angry or less.

Harry tucked one of Albus’s tangled curls behind his ears, something he had done countless times before, but which felt newly strained to both of them now. “I’ve just missed you, Ally,” he said finally. “That’s all.” 

Fresh and simple embarrassment at the hated childhood nickname cut through all other complicated feelings.

_ “Dad,” _ he said in exasperated disgust, “don’t  _ call  _ me that.  _ God. _ ”

Harry burst out laughing, a rush of relief flooding his chest at this sudden return to familiar ground.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, grinning, and ruffled Al’s hair. “I forgot.”

Albus made a noise of disgust that sounded like  _ “Pah!” _ and stalked around the car to the open back door where he promptly began an argument with Lily about who had to sit in the middle seat. 

Harry watched his children bicker amiably, and for a second it seemed like everything was as it should be. But he looked at his middle child - at his pale, drawn face, and the shadows under his eyes; he remembered how slight and skinny he had felt in his arms on the platform; how abruptly he had jerked out of Harry’s embrace, with an expression on that Harry had never seen and did not recognize. 

James always seemed a little bigger every time he got off the Hogwarts Express; a little taller, a little older, bursting with energy as always. Albus seemed smaller. Younger. And though he had smiled at everyone and greeted them happily enough, and bickered and tussled with his siblings as usual, there was something about him that was just - off.

Maybe final exams had done him in a bit - late night studying, stress. Maybe that was all this was and after a few days of rest and good food he would perk back up again.

But as Ginny had squeezed Al tight and fussed over him, despite his protests, she had looked up at Harry over his head and Harry saw his own worry and alarm reflected in her light brown eyes. Harry was sure she was also thinking of the cryptic missives they had received from Neville and Minerva, alluding to some concern over Al’s behavior; over how he was settling in.

Albus scrambled into the car finally, pushing an objecting Lily half onto James’s lap. James and Ginny were laughing, and Harry caught a small smile on Al’s face. But it seemed to Harry, studying him through the glass of the back window, that it didn’t extend to his eyes.

Al glanced back at Harry, their identical green eyes catching on each other for a moment, before he hastily turned around.

Harry played with his keys for a moment, lost in thought, before closing the trunk and settling behind the wheel. 

He and Ginny exchanged another brief, meaningful look before she turned around and started threatening the kids to  _ stop fooling around or she would hex all their hands to their laps so help me _ as Harry turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the car park into Muggle London.

He glanced frequently at Al in the rearview mirror during the drive home, but Albus never looked back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole Draco's "Potty" insult from the books, but I like to think it's Yann who's unoriginal, not me.
> 
> All credit to JK Rowling for creating the world and the characters.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://www.scarce-of-earth.tumblr.com)


	2. An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was some serious writer's block!! Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this story, I really and truly appreciate it, and I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. On the update itself, I cannot guarantee that this little in-between chapter will be interesting to anyone but me! This started out as background notes intended only for myself, but I thought some readers might be interested in how I conceptualize The Potter Family. So this is kind of fluffy and sad and self-indulgent idk, it's something, please bear with me writing is so hard, enjoy.

Albus was playing the piano. 

Harry crept noiselessly down the stairs without the use of a Silencing Charm. He and Ginny had memorized all the creaky spots years before, when their lives had revolved around trying (and failing) to synchronize the nap schedules of three small children. 

He stopped just outside of the den and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes and let the scales wash over him. Not that he knew anything about scales or minor keys or anything at all about music, really. Albus was the only one in the family with that passion. 

The piano had been a whim. 

He and Ginny had bought the old farm house when they were still engaged, and it was a dream come true to Harry. A house. His house. There was a time when he had nothing but a few spiderwebs and raggedy t-shirts to his name, and now he had a fiance, and together they had bought a house. A place to fill with friends and home cooking and, God, maybe even children. The future he envisioned in that (only very slightly ramshackle) house was dizzying, and days that were supposed to be devoted to renovating and decorating often devolved into giddy laughter and paint fights and takeaway pizza on the lawn, under the stars. 

On one such day Ginny had remarked (off-hand, Harry realized belatedly) that a piano would fit perfectly in the sun nook of their spacious living room. They had laughed themselves silly over the concept of even having something so inherently posh as a “sun nook” and later, when Ginny went off to look at curtains, Harry had gone to order a grand piano. “Whatever the best kind is,” he had said with a shrug to the shop owner, who was so thrilled with Harry’s patronage that he went personally to oversee the installment of the instrument the next day, and made sure to urge the Potters to call him any time they needed a tune-up.

“Christ’s sake, Harry,” Ginny had said in exasperation, once her gales of laughter had subsided, “a couple of armchairs would also have fit perfectly in the bloody sun nook.”

Ginny was always accusing Harry of spending money arbitrarily, and she wasn’t wrong. Ginny had grown up in a family that clipped coupons and kept track of every Knut. Hand-me-downs were patched and spruced up with a bit of magic, and then handed down again. So when Harry did things, like, throw out notebooks that were only half used - or buy brand new cribs, clothes, and toys for their second and third children - or put a down payment on an old farmhouse and the surrounding lands without discussing it with his future wife (she loved it, but still) - or perhaps buy large expensive instruments that he couldn’t even play just for the aesthetic - or -

Well it tended to drive Ginny up the wall.

But Harry had grown up surrounded by plenty in the Dursley house - plenty of toys he was never allowed to touch, and food that he watched get scarfed down while his stomach twisted in hunger, and brand new clothes that were worn once and then flung at him with a hateful look that dared him to complain. Before his eleventh birthday, Harry had never had anything that was truly his, let alone any actual money; let alone anyone to spend it on.

And now it turned out he was the heir to a haircare dynasty. (And there was Ginny’s substantial Quidditch earnings besides.) He would never have to work a day in his life if he didn’t want to, and nor would his children, nor probably his grandchildren. To combat this invitation to a life of pleasure and indolence, Ginny was adamant about not telling the children that they were “absolutely goddamn loaded” until they had finished school and begun careers, lest they “unleash more spoiled trust fund babies onto an unsuspecting world.” 

Regardless, a grand piano here or there was hardly going to break the bank for them and, being secure in that knowledge as he was, Harry just couldn’t bring himself to care overmuch about his spending habits. (When he did think about it, he was always supremely thankful that Ginny was around to hammer some thrift and common sense into their children’s heads.)

Harry remembered when Albus had first sat himself down at the (previously untouched) piano at five years old and, after a few minutes of trial and error, was able to pluck out the instrumental theme from a movie he had just seen completely from memory. 

Harry had turned to Ginny, his eyes shining with pride and amazement. “I told you it was worth getting that thing,” he said smugly.

“The piano, the television, or the child?” Ginny asked wryly. But her gaze was also fixed on their youngest son. Humming and smiling to himself, lost in his own private world, he sat in the light of sunny spring day and turned the discordant keys before him into something beautiful. His parents - who had somehow, miraculously, made this little person - had no more words, so they wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed tight, beaming. 

Of all their children, Albus was the one who always gave them the most surprises. 

They had signed him up for piano lessons the very next day, and for at least a short while every day afterwards, for years, Al’s music would float through the house from the sun nook. It was one of the things Harry had missed the most after his youngest son boarded the Hogwarts Express in September. He couldn’t look at the piano without a lump rising in his throat. But he had made sure to get it tuned last week so it would be perfect for Ally.

Harry let out a breath as Albus moved into the bridge, the lovely - though, somewhat sad - melody seeming to swell and fill the room, and resisted the urge to peek out at him. He loved to watch his son play as much as he loved to listen. It was one of the versions of Albus (and there were so many) that he loved best, with his head bent forward slightly, black curls tumbling into his eyes and thin fingers - still small and childlike, but also nimble - moving gracefully across the keys. He looked so peaceful when he played, relaxed and open in a way that Harry used to think of as simply carefree. But now, it just made him think about how closed off Albus had become. He was so...tense at King’s Cross, and even at home…

Not long before he left for school, a few months perhaps, Albus had taken to playing the piano at odd hours. It used to be that he would just sit down and play whenever the mood struck him. But Harry noticed one day that he hadn’t heard his son’s music in a while - or at least not properly. He was always just finishing up whenever someone walked in a room, it seemed like. Or he would wait until everyone else was out, or in the yard or upstairs, and then he would go to the piano. Harry would crack open the door of his office, or bedroom, and let the distant music filter in, knowing that if he went down to the living room Albus would stop immediately. Harry wondered if James had been teasing him.

He wanted to see what Al’s face looked like now, but he didn’t want Albus to get upset or embarrassed at the sight of him. So he just kept his eyes closed and let the familiar notes wash over him. He never heard this song except for when Albus played it. In his mind, it was Al’s song. It was his memories of his baby boy through the years: cooing up at him from a bassinet, padding across sunlit floors on unsteady toddler feet, laughing with his siblings, crying and running into Harry’s arms, reading in the window seat of his room, coloring on the dining room table, playing with his cousins on their visits, helping Harry cook in the kitchen, flying with Ginny in the backyard...leaving, last September; nervous but so, so excited. Coming home, yesterday; exhausted and careworn - from the train journey, he said - barely touching his dinner and going to bed early. Barely looking at anyone. 

Harry had been waiting for the Christmas holidays for forever it seemed like, mentally checking off the days as he had once counted them off on a homemade calendar in Privet Drive. His boys were back. His home was full. His family was safe and happy and together. 

Except that they weren’t.


End file.
